


Flesh Memory

by TheCookieOfDoom



Series: Prompt Fills [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 00:50:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10978920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCookieOfDoom/pseuds/TheCookieOfDoom
Summary: Prompt fill: Jon loses a bet. The cost: having to get a tattoo of Ramsay's choosing on the delicate skin of his inner thigh, where no one else will see.





	Flesh Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the prompt, darling! I'd be lying if I said I wasn't weak for tattoo fics ;)

“... I’m going to need to have you sign a consent form,” the artist said, opening a drawer and pulling out a paper without looking. It was set down in front of Jon, along with a pen. He looked at Jon expectantly, waiting for him to sign; this wouldn’t happen if he didn’t. He didn’t want to consent, but he had given his word, and he’d be damned if he broke it. So, with a vicious glare at the man standing next to him smirking triumphantly, he picked up the pen and filled out the paperwork in scrawling script. 

“I hate you,” he hissed at Ramsay as he was lead into the back of the shop. 

“You should learn to pick your battles better,” Ramsay responded, clapping Jon on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Snow, It’s not like I’m going to have the man put a dick on you; I’m not so childish. I’ll make sure it’s something good, so that you remember me fondly every time you see it.” Which would be often, Ramsay was sure. 

Jon was left to his own devices for several hours as the tattoo artist and Ramsay came up with the design that would forever be etched into his flesh. He wouldn’t even have the hope of it fading, with it being placed on such an  _ intimate  _ part of his body that wouldn’t be exposed to sunlight often. 

When the pair finally returned, pulling Jon away from the video--it was of wolf pups playing in the snow for the first time--that he was watching on his phone, Ramsay could barely contain himself. That alone had Jon feeling uneasy. Coupled with the fact that he was required to strip out of his jeans to bare the delicate flesh of his inner thigh, he wasn’t exactly comfortable. And, of course, Ramsay only made that feeling worse as he pulled a blindfold out of his pocket, covering Jon’s eyes to blind him to what the artist was doing. 

“Ramsay, what--this wasn’t part of the deal.”

“I don’t want you to see it until it’s done.”

Jon heard the buzzing of the tattoo gun being turned on, and tensed up. He didn’t want to go through with this. He wanted to back out, beg Ramsay to pick something else, but his voice was stuck in his throat; he couldn’t say anything. All he could do was grip the arms of the chair he was sitting in so hard that the leather creaked in protest and his knuckles were white. 

“Please just tell me what it is,” Jon begged. He didn’t know what was worse; the not knowing, or finding out and knowing it would be terrible. He supposed if he knew, he would have until it was done to prepare himself for it. Not knowing was definitely worse. 

Patronizingly, Ramsay took his hand and pet his hair, as if he were a woman going through labor. It was certainly how he felt, given the position he was in and the pain he suddenly felt of the needles pulsing into his flesh. “No. I want it to be a surprise. Now sit tight, it’ll be over soon.”

It was certainly not over soon. By about an hour and a half, not that Jon had any way of knowing for sure, blindfolded as he was, he was squirming. He couldn’t take it, the constant feeling of the needles dragging through his flesh, a buzzing that was as numb as it was painful. He couldn’t help but try to get away from it, even as he tried his hardest to keep still. Whatever Ramsay had picked was big, he could tell that from the outline that had been transferred onto his skin, the paper taking up a large space on his thigh. But it was also  _ detailed _ . Jon knew Ramsay had done it on purpose, choosing something big and detailed to keep him in the chair longer, suffering. 

“I think we should take a break,” the artist said, turning off the gun. “I don’t want you to go into shock or have a panic attack.” 

“I’m not going to,” Jon said, offended. He would love to take a break, however. Even though the artist had stopped, he still felt as if the needles were still stabbing at him. TIngling across his flesh, like fire ants walking all over him and biting him. 

“I’ve heard that before,” the artist said, getting up. He went to get something, putting a bottle of water into Jon’s hand when he came back which was eagerly accepted. 

“How does it look so far?” Jon asked between gulps, easily downing half the bottle. He almost choked when he felt Ramsay suddenly touch his sore flesh, coughing raggedly. 

“It looks really good,” Ramsay said, cruel grin evident in his voice. Sometimes, Jon wondered why they were even friends. Well, they weren’t, really, strictly speaking. Just two people that hated each other, and occasionally decided to do that hating in each other’s presence. Hatefucking was also the best kind of fucking, so there was that, too. 

“How much is done?” How long until he could leave?

“A little less than half. Maybe about a third? Still a ways to go, love.” 

Jon groaned, itching to take off the blindfold so that he could just  _ see  _ the damn thing. “Are you lying to me about it looking good? You sound like you’re lying.” 

“I think it looks great. Quite realistic.” 

“I swear to god, if it’s a portrait of you-”

“It’s nothing like that, don’t worry. But I think it’s definitely accentuating. It really reflects what you are inside, beneath your skin.” Ramsay was all but purring the words, and Jon couldn’t think of what it could be. He didn’t even want to know what Ramsay thought he was like ‘inside’. As far as Ramsay was concerned, he was a bratty, cock-hungry slut, which was only a  _ small  _ portion of his personality, and usually only came out around Ramsay. They had a talent for bringing out the worst in each other. 

He was given half an hour before they began the slow process of inking his skin once more. The reprieve made it worse, his skin having a chance to rest and then becoming even more sensitive. It felt like not only were fire ants crawling on top of his skin, but also  _ inside  _ of it. Ramsay held his hand the entire time, even as the bones of his knuckles creaked in protest, and Jon could sense his smirk. He would slap it off his haughty face later. See how he felt after not being allowed to fuck Jon for a week or so, maybe even a month, because of how much it would  _ hurt  _ to have anything touch the tattoo. 

“Alright, you ready to see this?” the artist asked, hours later, smearing some kind of gel over the tattoo that felt cooling, then numbed him so that he couldn’t feel so much of the ache. 

“Not really,” Jon said, but he got up anyway, taking off the blindfold. He went over to the floor length mirror to see the tattoo. 

He… he didn’t have words. It was a beautiful piece of art, yes, expertly rendered so look so real that he thought if he touched it, he would be able to see the slick muscle sinew depicted. The tattoo was made to look as if his inner thigh had been flayed, the skin stripped away to reveal the flesh underneath.  _ Who he was beneath his skin.  _

“What do you think?” Ramsay asked, coming to stand behind him, his hand resting on Jon’s hip. 

“It’s…” Well done, but he didn’t know if that was something he really wanted to have on his body or not. “Definitely very  _ you _ .” He was surprised he hadn’t thought of Ramsay coming up with something like this, actually. 

“Good. Now you’ll always remember me,” Ramsay purred, nipping Jon’s neck. Jon only hummed in response, still staring at the tattoo. He had to admit that it did look quite good, and like did like the way it looked on him. But he would keep that thought to himself, for awhile at least. Ramsay didn’t need to know. 

**Author's Note:**

> accepting prompts until the 30th, so send them now!
> 
> https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1OjDEzBg-iUO8967KvPFTGGfVtc2iOylg_aSdoUQKpnY/edit


End file.
